


Five Drinks They Lived to Regret

by Lyrstzha



Category: Firefly
Genre: Drunkenness, First Kiss, Flash Fic, M/M, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-29
Updated: 2007-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrstzha/pseuds/Lyrstzha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As you might expect, this is about those drinks that various members of the crew look back on a little regretfully, for one reason or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Drinks They Lived to Regret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepfishy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Deepfishy).



> _Mostly_ gen-ish, up until the Mal/Simon in part 5. Translations are in mouseover as well as at the end of the text.

1) Mal regretted whatever the hell that homebrew he drank at the Spring festival on Triumph was. Or he did once he woke up the next morning on the cargo bay floor, worked out which feet were his, and began to get some idea what had happened, anyway. The regret kicked in right about that point, almost as hard as the pounding in his skull.

His first clue that something had gone a bit amiss was the eye-bleedingly bright riot of colors under his face when he opened his eyes. Moving his head back a bit—slowly, so as to keep it from falling off, as it felt like it might do—allowed the blinding blur to resolve itself into Wash's garishly-shirted chest.

_Well_, Mal thought to himself, _at least we ain't naked. That could've been a mite awkward_.

Naturally, that's when he looked up and noticed booted feet which, upon further inspection, turned out to be attached to Zoë, who was sitting on the steps a few feet away with her arms crossed and no expression at all on her face. Because the 'Verse hated him just that much.

Mal looked down at Wash sprawled across the floor beneath him, and back up at Zoë. She raised her eyebrow and tilted her head to the side with an air of _well?_.

Mal opened his mouth, but no handy explanation turned up on his tongue like he'd hoped it would.

"There a good reason you're snorin' up a storm on top of my husband like a _jien huo_, Sir?"

"Uh..." Mal coughed a little, and scrubbed a hand hard over his face. Belatedly, he rolled off of Wash, a little more hastily than was probably wise. Wash made a pained, breathless groan as Mal's knee glanced over his solar plexus, and Mal hissed, "Gorramit!" between his teeth and put his head between his knees, trying not to let his belly turn itself inside out as it seemed very keen on doing.

"Wha?" Wash mumbled blearily, blinking in confusion and rubbing at his assaulted solar plexus.

"Sure we didn't get into no trouble," Mal managed weakly. "Had a fair bit to drink and broke my fall on your man, is all."

Zoë's mouth twitched. Her fingers drummed on the butt of her gun with a precise, measured cadence. "That explain how you got married? Settlement Preacher waved his congratulations and his statement of witness for your license this morning."

"Why we got...?" Mal cut off there and pressed the heels of his hands into his aching eyes. "Aww, not _again_. Didn't take no wine or flowers or any damn thing! We was _careful_, from what I recollect. Drank out of our own flasks and didn't dance with nobody."

"Married?" Wash rasped, clearing his throat roughly. "But Zoë, my love, light of my life, we can't have. I'm already married."

Zoë shook her head slightly. "Don't seem to matter on Triumph. Can marry as many as you got a mind to here."

"Can't I _ever_ get off this gorram rock without gettin' hitched?" Mal moaned into his knees plaintively.

"Could be worse," Wash offered, far too brightly under the circumstances. "I solemnly swear that _I_ have no plans to kill everybody and steal the ship."

Mal raised his head to glare at Wash. "Well, that's just shiny. I'm thankful for small mercies. Ain't my face all lit up an' a-glow with joy?"

"Hey, now!" Wash stirred a little, raising up to his elbows without even gagging _once_, the _huen dahn_. "It's not like this is my fault. _I'm_ not the _hu li jing_ here." He pointed a finger at Mal, blithely ignoring the murderous look on Mal's face. "As I remember it, when I mentioned getting back home to my lovely wife, _you're_ the one who said there'd be no harm in staying at the Festival a little longer. Bet _you're_ the one got us joined in connubial bliss."

Zoë snorted. Her fingers still drummed on the butt of her gun.

Mal pointed an accusing finger back at Wash that wavered only slightly. "Don't you be connubialin' me when your wife's fixin' to kill us both!"

"See you finally found your way to the business end of this conversation, Sir." Zoë nodded, almost approvingly. "All due respect, but I ain't 'specially keen on sharin' my husband with you."

Mal waved a denying hand hastily at her, making himself sway a bit more. "Won't be doin' none a'that. Ain't got no interest in a cut a'your marriage bed." He shot a red-eyed glare at Wash again. "You just keep your crazy little man all to your lonesome."

Wash nudged Mal's hip with one foot. "Should you be talking about me like that now we're united in the holy bonds of matrimony?" He nudged Mal again, harder. "Because I have to say, I expect more respect from my devoted husband."

Mal growled and slapped Wash's foot away. "I will respect you _right through this floor_, you don't pipe down. This ain't funny."

Wash grinned sunnily, undaunted. "Now, Mal. Not right out here in the cargo bay. Save that kinda thing for the honeymoon, Sweetpea."

Mal lurched up and towards Wash, but Zoë grabbed his collar and held fast. Wash, just out of reach, waggled his eyebrows and kept grinning.

"Sorry, Sir. Can't let you kill him." Zoë paused consideringly, then added, "That needs doin', it's up to me. Anyhow," she gave Mal a small shake to get his attention, "think on what day it is, Sir."

Mal blinked a bit, distracted. "April," he said, after a moment's thought. "First, it might be." He squinted in contemplation. "Yeah, reckon that's right. Been in the black only four days, so it must be. April first. So?"

"That mean anything to you?" Zoë prompted patiently after a long moment.

Wash chuckled and winked at Mal. "I didn't marry him for his lightning-quick wits so much, obviously."

Mal scowled back at him. "What _about_ April the..." And the light dawned at last. "_Ung jeong jia ching jien soh!_ You ruttin' devious, low-down, hornswogglin', _guay toh guay nown!_ I hate you," Mal declared with feeling. "Both a'you. More'n I ever hated anybody in the whole gorram 'Verse. Hate as big as the endless black." He glared harder as they grinned at him in unison. "Pure evil, the pair a'you."

"So, the honeymoon's off, Sugarplum?" Wash asked brightly.

Mal growled and made a show of pulling against Zoë's hold on his collar. "Did I mention the whole endless black a'hate?"

"We love you too, Sir," Zoë laughed into his ear.

 

2) Simon regretted that first U-Day drink he had with Zoë and Mal and Jayne. He realized that he should've known better than to go with them in the first place, though. He ought to have gotten suspicious when Jayne started snickering, at least.

It was just that Simon was still feeling a certain camaraderie with his crew mates after the whole Jubal Early incident, and time spent recovering from his leg wound had made him restless once he was up and around again. And also, he'd completely lost track of the date, or he'd never have asked to go with them when Mal announced the outing.

Maybe it was also just a little bit that Inara had announced she was leaving only the week before, and there was something kind of brittle about Mal, something that made Simon want to cheer him up a bit. Not that Simon figured he was much good with that sort of thing in general, but he thought possibly an evening out at one of those dusty, backwater, rowdy bars that the rest of the crew seemed to feel so at home in might be just the thing.

Simon first began to grasp the full magnitude of his mistake when a grubby man with broader shoulders even than Jayne's stood up to make a U-Day toast to the Alliance. Applauded, of course, by his seven similarly-built brothers and seemingly countless hulking friends.

And if he'd just kept quiet and slipped out the door, Simon might have been all right. If he hadn't suffered an unexpected moment of madness and broken his mug over the head of that brawny woman who was pounding Mal's head into a table, he probably would have escaped the evening without a mild concussion, two cracked ribs, and a broken toe.

On the other hand, though Zoë would surely have charged over to help once she got the better of her three attackers, Mal might have ended up with more than a cracked skull. So possibly Simon didn't regret that drink quite as much as he said that he did.

 

3) Jayne never mentioned it to anybody, but he regretted the drink he didn't have with Book on Haven that last time they were there. He'd meant to take his flask over to the Shepherd and shoot the breeze for a spell, like he usually did when they visited Haven. Nobody else but Book and Kaylee ever remembered to ask about his sister Carrie, and if she was finally getting hitched to her fellow or not, or if his mother had managed to patch the holes in her roof before the spring rains came. Things like that, well, they made a man feel like somebody was taking an interest, was all. And Book had a way about him when they talked that somehow didn't make it seem like he thought Jayne was stupid. Easy to come to appreciate something like that, especially after shipping out with Simon for a while.

But Book was off talking to Mal for a good bit, probably about moon-brain and her crazy hijinks and all. And the fire was warm and bright, and pretty Annabeth Reed settled in close beside him, asking if he could play her a song or two on his guitar. Her clear, happy voice rose up with the fire-smoke to curl against the glittering stars every time she joined in the chorus.

And from where he was sitting, he could tell she wasn't wearing no underwear. Not a stitch.

But if Jayne had known what was coming, he'd have made a little time for that drink anyway.

 

4) _Everybody_ regretted letting River drink on her eighteenth birthday, but Jayne most especially. She had enough of an oddness to her to begin with, even if she'd been a bit better since Miranda; the last thing that girl needed, they all agreed afterwards, was anything that might rattle her already precarious grasp on reality. And everybody certainly agreed that she was not to touch more than a drop again, ever.

It was slightly less certain where she'd found two dozen wild rabbits, let alone how she'd gotten them on board unnoticed.

When they asked her about it, River laughed, high and wild like the call of some jungle bird, and just said, "Diggers in the earth, dwellers of the dark tunnels below ground. They make the dark above just like home now. They make metal into earth in their minds. Make _Serenity_ a whole world."

"But _mei mei_," Inara reproved her gently, holding one small brown rabbit carefully by the scruff of the neck and keeping it tucked safely under her arm. "They nested in my best silk sheets. I'll _never_ get the smell out. They've got to go," she added firmly.

"Silk sheets, my _pi gu_," Jayne snorted. "Oughta be more worried 'bout those varmints chewin' up the wirin' an' sendin' us all to a fiery death."

"They wouldn't do that!" Kaylee turned wide eyes on Jayne, an oddly docile bunny cuddled under her chin. "Would they?"

"Bet my towerin' manhood they _would_," Jayne retorted, illustrating that with a jerk of his hips.

"Done!" River declared, sounding pleased. She spat in her palm and held her hand out for Jayne to shake.

He eyed it suspiciously. His Ma didn't raise no fool big enough to gamble with a Reader, after all. "You'd cheat," he accused her. "Ain't no fair, witchin' them bunnies with your creepifyin' mind-powers."

River waggled the fingers of her outstretched hand imperiously. "Too late for new rules. Once the universe is set in motion, it must follow a fixed set of physical laws."

"Hey, now," Jayne said, holding up his hands in a warding motion at the crazy girl. He backed up a step, looking around for help. "Can't one a'you two take her off someplace? She's startin' to get powerful irksome."

Inara smiled at him. "I have to tend to my insignificant silk sheets," she said, in a voice even silkier than the sheets themselves. "If you'll excuse me." And she sashayed off across the cargo bay in a waft of perfume and a rustle of satin.

"Sorry, Jayne." Kaylee shrugged cheerfully. "Got me an engine to check for twitchy noses. If I see Simon, I'll send him on down." She grinned at River. "Don't tear off anythin' that your brother can't sew back on." With that, she clapped Jayne on the arm heartily and bounded off.

Yeah, he _knew_ it had been a bad idea to use Kaylee's favorite wrench to bang out a dent in his little-used set of chest-armor. You wouldn't think it, but that girl could be right vengeful when she'd a mind to be. Time was, neither woman would've left him alone with River like that, but many things have been different since Miranda.

Jayne backed up another step as River slowly advanced. "What you playin' at, little girl?" he barked at her.

She smiled, looking just all manner of ominous. "Laying siege to your tower," she sing-songed in a sweet voice.

He wondered if it'd be undignified to hightail it towards the infirmary, hollering for Simon. Probably so. But Mal told him something once about the better part of valor or some such, which suddenly sounded a whole lot more sensible than it had at the time.

Halfway across the bay he looked back over his shoulder, and River was still smiling at his fast-retreating back. Hell, she was probably just winding him up, anyway—not that he was going back to find out.

"Hippity-hoppity to the hidey-hole when the owl swoops low over the meadow," she called after him, laughing again, rabbits lolling complacently around her feet.

Jayne would swear they were laughing at him too, except he was fair sure that bunnies weren't supposed to be able to do that. But these were _River's_ bunnies, so you just never knew.

 

5) There was another U-Day drink that Simon lived to regret, though it wasn't a story he ever told to many people. Nine months after Miranda, U-Day came again. Mal, to no one's surprise, managed to _coincidentally_ schedule _Serenity_ to stop off for the day on Boros, and just _happened_ to decide to go out for a drink. At a bar he knew from old experience to be Alliance-friendly, of course.

But this time, no matter how Mal protested, everybody went with him. It was one of those things that changed, after Miranda. They all clung together a little tighter, even if Zoë didn't talk much and Simon and Jayne still sniped at each other. Even if the itching thing between Mal and Inara never seemed to sort itself out, and the fire between Kaylee and Simon had banked down to a comfortable friendship four months before.

"Don't make no never mind," Kaylee had said when she and Simon had finally agreed to call their romance off. "You really love somebody, it don't matter _how_ you love 'em. Or if they get under your skin and make you wanna clean their housin' good sometimes. You're still a part'a my heart, an' that's all that means a gorram thing." She'd kissed Simon on the cheek, and he could feel her small smile against his skin. "An' if you feel that bad, you can buy me some batteries to say sorry next time we land."

Which is to say, they all marched into that bar together, clustered close and ready for some unpleasantness. Simon had even stuffed some emergency first-aid supplies in his pockets, though he figured River (who wouldn't stay behind on the ship no matter how he'd tried to persuade her) could probably tip the balance of any fight considerably in their favor.

The one thing they weren't really ready for was _nothing_. Not one glass was lifted in a toast to the Alliance. Not one scruffy insult to evolution raised a slurred voice to praise U-Day. Not a single, solitary excuse for a real throw-down presented itself. Miranda, Simon realized, must have changed some things for these people, too.

Mal scowled into his drink all night, twitchy and out-of-sorts. Simon was tempted to call it sulking, but was wise enough not to do so out loud. He figured probably this yearly release was something Mal needed after the war; maybe this ritual, in some way, made it like he'd never really surrendered. When Simon thought about it that way, he could sort of understand the feeling.

He brought Mal a shot of truly deadly rot-gut whiskey and sat down beside him. "I'm sorry you didn't get your violence, Captain."

Mal snorted, but he took the shotglass readily enough. "_Jao gao_. Won't feel like it's another year gone by without it."

Mal rubbed his fingertips against his scalp just above his left temple, where Simon knew (from past examinations of Mal's occasional head wounds) there was an old, long scar hidden beneath the hair; old enough perhaps to be from the war, though Simon had never asked. He thought the motion was an unconscious reflex, just Mal's urge to mark the passage of time with something tangible, something to make him _feel_ it. Pain, Simon figured, needed an anchor in the skin to make it real, to make it mend-able.

Simon shrugged lightly. "If it would make you feel better, you can fight me."

Mal inhaled the sip of whiskey he'd been taking, and coughed hard, eyes watering. After a minute, he managed, "That's right thoughtful of you, Doc, but no thanks. Do appreciate the offer, though." And he smiled at Simon, an honest smile that actually made it all the way to his eyes.

Feeling ridiculously pleased with himself, Simon smiled back. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"I'll do that," Mal told him, eyes glinting with amusement. "Tell you what, while I'm mullin' the notion over, why don't we have ourselves a bottle of this fine brew?" And he brought back a whole _jug_ of the vile stuff, and filled glasses for both of them.

After a while, since it was obvious that there wasn't going to be any trouble with the locals, the crew started dispersing. Jayne vanished off to the upper floor with a barmaid, who might also have been a whore, but Simon wasn't certain. Zoë went back to the ship alone, still sober as a judge. Inara, River, and Kaylee went to the music hall next door to see whatever passed for a show on Boros.

Only Mal and Simon stayed in the bar, side by side on a wooden bench before a rickety table, still drinking together. The whiskey didn't burn quite so badly after the first glass, actually. Or possibly it was just making Simon's mouth go numb; he wasn't sure which.

Mal surveyed the room and sighed. "Always seem to find trouble when I _ain't_ lookin' to easy enough. But when I genuinely want a good bust-up...," he shook his head and re-filled his glass. "Just got no manner of luck."

Simon shot him a sidelong look. "I'm sorry for the part that River and I played in your bad luck, Captain," he said softly.

Mal gave him a wry and slightly worn chuckle. "Don't go thinkin' you two invented the wheel. I got into troubles a-plenty 'fore you ever threw yours on the heap."

"That I believe." Simon half-smiled, just a slight curl to his lips. "But still." He looked away, down at his hands which fidgeted around his empty shotglass. "Especially since you brought us such good luck yourself."

"Yeah?" Simon glanced up in time to see Mal raise his eyebrows in surprise. "How you conjure that, Doc?"

"There were plenty of other ships I might have chosen. Do you really think that any other captain would have done what you did for us?" Simon looked Mal steadily in the eye. "Do you think I don't realize what would have happened to us if we'd been with anyone else?"

Mal sat back a little, looking a bit uncomfortable and self-conscious. "Well. There's other good captains in the black. Can't say as some of 'em wouldn't've done the same by you."

Simon shook his head slowly. "I don't believe it," he said with absolute conviction, like it was an article of faith.

Mal looked at him thoughtfully, sidelong. One corner of his mouth quirked up a little. "Might be right at that. Most of 'em ain't crazy enough."

Simon wasn't usually very good at hearing what people didn't say, but he had a sense that maybe Mal would rather shrug off the weight of gratitude for the moment. So he looked down and let the intensity ease a bit. "Exactly." He nodded with deadpan gravity and clicked his glass against Mal's. "To your fortunate lack of sanity, Captain." He drained his whiskey with only a little choking afterwards.

Mal snorted in amusement and downed the contents of his glass. He set it back on the table with a solid thump and reached for the bottle again, his arm brushing Simon's on the way.

A couple of glasses later, Simon didn't think he was really drunk until he realized that he was leaning against Mal's side and rubbing the back of his hand absently against the same scar Mal had touched earlier. His knuckles whispered against hair, back and forth.

"Like I could feel what it means to you from the outside," Simon mumbled, entirely without meaning to.

"What?" Mal pulled away a little and turned his head to frown at Simon in puzzlement.

"Nothing," Simon muttered. "Was I saying something?" He listed over a bit until he was resting against Mal again, shoulder to shoulder.

Mal laughed at him. "Might be time we got ourselves back home. Think you've had 'bout all you can handle."

"I'm not drunk," Simon insisted, a little defensively. "I'm still perfectly in command of my faculties." Which he was, mostly. He was maybe just a bit warm and fuzzy around the edges.

"Well, I _am_ mighty impressed you can still wrap your mouth 'round words with three whole syllables." Mal raised an eyebrow at him. "So you're just feelin' friendly, then?" And he shrugged the shoulder Simon was leaning on just a little, but not enough to actually dislodge him.

Simon blinked up at him. "Yes," he said simply, without realizing he was going to say it before he did.

Mal sighed and pulled away, rising to his feet mostly steadily. "Now I know you had enough," he told Simon. "Best be gettin' you back to your bunk 'fore you start singin'." He reached down for Simon's arm and pulled until Simon got his feet under himself and stood. The room spun just a bit, but Simon tried not to let on.

"I told you," Simon complained as they left the bar, Mal still with a firm hold on Simon's arm. "I'm fine. I didn't have that much."

"Don't take too much, as I recall." Mal squeezed the arm he held a little. "You just come along home quiet-like, an' that's an order."

Simon let himself be gently yet firmly steered out of the bar and down the darkened street outside. Later, he'd blame it on the whiskey-dizziness that he laughed under his breath and murmured, "You want to get me to bed."

Mal's faintly amused and surprisingly patient voice came from just above Simon's ear. "Well done. Knew you'd cotton on eventually. Must be that top three percent brain an' all."

"No," insisted Simon, still laughing a bit. "I mean, you want to get me _into bed_."

"Your sense a'humor got a distinct peculiarness to it, I ever tell you that?" But Mal's supporting arm was still wrapped around him, not pushing him away. And Mal's breath stirred through Simon's hair in a tickling caress.

"I'm serious," Simon told him, managing to quell the exhilarated laugh that tried to keep bubbling out of his throat.

"_Jien ta duh guay_. You're liquored up good, is what you are."

Somewhat later, Simon would reflect that even on his best day he might not have formulated an eloquent and convincing verbal response to that. Fortunately, he was just drunk enough not to try that, but to explore a more useful alternative instead.

Mal was carrying a not inconsiderable amount of his weight anyway, so it wasn't actually that difficult for Simon to lurch hard into Mal, sending them both stumbling a little into the darker shadows of an alley.

"I told you," Simon whispered bare inches from Mal's ear, noting the shiver that caused. "I'm serious."

And with no more warning than that, he dropped somewhat gracelessly to the ground, slithering down Mal, hitting the packed earth harder than he'd intended and bruising his knees. He blindly nuzzled into Mal's crotch, opening his mouth to pant hot, wet breaths through the coarse cloth.

A tightly-choked stream of words that sounded indeterminately filthy poured from Mal's mouth, sounding utterly beautiful in their senselessness to Simon's ears. His hips bucked slightly with a staccato, uncontrolled jerk, grinding his growing hardness against Simon's open mouth.

Simon curved his palms over Mal's hipbones, pressing them back firmly against the wall of the alley. His thumbs stroked at the join of Mal's thighs and groin through the muffling cloth, back and forth like he could wear his way through to skin if he tried hard enough. Simon mouthed at Mal's erection, scraping his teeth along its trapped length with a whisper of wet fabric.

"Ah!" Mal hissed, his hands fisting into Simon's hair and his spine arching hard. "_Simon_," he breathed, low and fervent. His cock twitched slightly against Simon's working lips.

The cloth between them was thoroughly wet now, and Simon could almost taste Mal through it. Maybe it was only his own blood heating his face, but he could swear he could feel the slight throbbing of a heartbeat pulsing from Mal's cock. He moved his fingers to fumble with the fastenings of Mal's pants in the dark, wanting the feel and flavor of bare skin.

"Simon, _d'un yi shia_, don't—" And then Mal's hands were suddenly between them, pushing Simon away.

Simon sat back on his heels, glaring up in the dimness. "_What?_ You can't tell me I'm doing it wrong _yet_."

"Hey, now." Mal panted a little breathlessly, and his eyes glinted wide and serious in the gloom. "I ain't sayin' you were doin' anythin' less than a bang-up job. But you're still well an' truly soused."

Simon reached out for Mal again, only to have his hand caught and held fast. "I'm sober enough. I know what I'm doing, Mal."

"If that's true now, it'll still be true in the mornin'." Mal's voice was resolute, and he hauled on Simon's hand insistently. "Now get up off your knees while I still got an ounce a' gentleman in me."

Simon allowed Mal to pull him up, grumbling, "_I_ could have had an ounce of gentleman in—"

"Whoa!" Mal clapped a free hand over Simon's mouth, only to snatch it away when Simon licked at the palm. "You are seriously testin' my virtuous nature here. You keep temptin' me with that pretty mouth, an' I'm gonna go fetch Jayne down from upstairs to chaperone us home. You want him tetchy with you for a good long while for cuttin' into his whorin'?"

"Not really," Simon sighed, because Jayne tetchy wasn't really that idle of a threat.

"Good. Then let's just get on home so we can sleep it off an' maybe revisit this subject come mornin'." But Mal still pulled Simon in to lean against him again, and they walked back slowly, rubbing up against each other with each step.

Of course, it wasn't so much the drink itself that Simon regretted later; it was more that he wished that he'd been close enough to sober for Mal's peace of mind. Also, he'd have liked to have a sharper memory of that evening, instead of the slightly fuzzy, dream-like recollection that he was left with the following morning.

But fortunately, Mal was perfectly happy to fill in the gaps. Often and with embellishment, just in case Simon needed extra reminding.

********

_jien huo_: cheap floozy  
_huen dahn_: bastard  
_hu li jing_: homewrecking tramp  
_Ung jeong jia ching jien soh!_: Filthy fornicators of livestock!  
_guay toh guay nown_: conniving person  
_mei mei_: little sister  
_pi gu_: ass  
_Jao gao_: too bad  
_Jien ta duh guay_: like hell  
_d'un yi shia_: wait


End file.
